If I can do anything to help, I have to try, and it has to be now.
On instinct, I hover my hands over his thigh, silently begging for my powers to help me.
A thread lashes out. Something cool and comforting, urging me to reach for it, to grab on and pull.
I do, and it unravels instantly, surging upward.
I realize what this is: my connection to Aoife, the one caster affinity that has eluded me completely thus far. The one I need to heal.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but nothing to lose. I don’t waste another second, channeling it into Elisaf, visualizing his bones sturdy and his flesh whole, rippling with muscle as he dances around the Cirilean sparring court, a competent adversary for Zander.
Elisaf sighs as my affinity cocoons his broken body and eases his pain. It quickly spreads, countless tendrils like tiny knitting needles, weaving fibers back together and staunching the flow of blood.
I’m doing it.
I’m putting my friend back together.
My heart sings with joy as I lose myself in this task, coaxing the magic to work faster. Of all the gifts and tricks I’ve learned so far, I would trade them all for this one ability, here and now.
“Zander!”
The ring of desperation in Abarrane’s screech splits my concentration and my hold on the healing thread. My attention snaps toward the battle. Zander is sprawled on his back, and the giant spear on the end of the grif’s tail aims down with a mighty thrust.
He’s not going to escape it this time.
“No!” The word tears from my throat.
A surge of power like nothing I’ve ever felt shatters inside me.